A Little Tenderness
by xXDasXGoochXx
Summary: Gumball is accosted by a woman with a gun while on his way back to his dormitory. Rated M for xXDasXGoochXx


A little Tenderness…

By: xXDasXGoochXx

Gumball is accosted by a gun toting woman who only wants a little tenderness.

xXDXGXx

Things had been going smoothly for Gumball since starting his first semester in college. He had decided to tackle on his tougher classes early on so as to not overwhelm himself next semester. Which is why he spent most of his free time in the library; studying.

The campus campanile slowly rang out the last of the twelve hours. From his cubicle in the library - open twenty four hours - Gumball barely heard it, but perhaps it made him decide to pack it in for the night. On the other hand, perhaps it was just a coincidence.

As quietly as he could, he slid his books inside his shoulder bag and got up to leave. Some other students, stressed out of their wits, looked up at him, partly from curiosity, partly from relieving their sore eyes; most of them, though, didn't notice. A pair of eyes, large, grey and limpid, followed him out of the room and into the elevator.

On the ground floor, the elevator doors opened again. He exited, alone. An aide reclined in a chair by the entryway, dozing softly. He shrugged, deciding not to disturb the aide. Behind him and slightly to the right there was the sound of slippers making their way down the stairwell. He stepped out; it was a cool pleasant night, and the oppressive stillness of the tight quarters inside gave way to a fresh mist falling gently on his face. He breathed in deeply.

There was a bridge over a brook down this path; it was not as well lit as the paved path rising over the Cricket Hill, but it would take him half the time. So down he walked to the bridge, his flip flops slapping the ground under him. The sound of the brook drowned out the sound of his footsteps, and hers. He felt a hard push in the small of his back.

"Don't even try moving, Lucky," said someone from behind him, in a voice which implied that luck, good luck, anyway, was not about to be involved. For a moment, he was taken aback by the voice - and then he realized it was female and brusque. It nagged at the back of his mind, familiar but just impossible to narrow down. He stiffened, and his heart pounded; it felt like it had been pounding now for a while. She pushed him.

"OK, now, keep on walking. Don't turn around." He took a hesitant first step, and the pain in his back abated somewhat. "Stop at the end of the bridge." He could only assume that she was keeping the gun (if that was what it was) pointed at him. His stomach wrung itself.

"All right," she said, coming up quickly behind him. "Now walk down." She indicated the bank. "CAREFULLY," she added. "I mean it. You try to run and... And; I'll blow your fucking head off." There was a quaver in her voice (he hadn't heard it before) that suggested she was either not completely sober or not completely sane. Either way, there was no reason to believe she wouldn't carry out her threat. He began sliding down the bank to the rushing water.

"Under the bridge." He hesitated. "NOW!" she whispered, but her whisper was a growl. He rushed under the bridge. There was a narrow terrace under the bridge where the water ran up alongside. There he turned his head around and chanced a glance at his attacker. She was small, but not slim, and her hair, illuminated from above and behind by the lamplight high up on the opposite bank, seemed ablaze. He vaguely recognized two horns signaling her ethnicity as being oxen. That same light hid her face.

Either he was too deep into the shadow for her to see him look at her, or she did see him and wasn't concerned at all. In any event, she simply walked toward him, and as she passed under the lip of the bridge she too was swallowed up in shadow, and all he could see was her silhouette.

"Take your pants off," she said, in a measured tone. When he didn't move, she placed the muzzle of her gun at his right kneecap. "Do you know what will happen if I pull the trigger?"

He shook his head slowly, even though he was pretty sure she couldn't see him. "It'll take your pants down, for sure, and," she said, breaking into a small smirk (he was sure of that), "it'll blow your fucking knee right off. Now, would you kindly take your pants off?"

The hammer cocked.

He was surprised how loudly it clicked above the sound of the water. He took his jeans off, slowly, in order not to provoke her. When he finished, he stood up again, looking down at her, or actually, at her gun. He thought about how, if by any chance he came out of this alive, he would have to describe her and everything, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from that gun.

That gun was now being inserted into his underpants. If he got out of this; _someone would pay_.

"These too," she said, just a tad menacingly. "I'm going to be raping you," she added, pulling his underpants up fiercely, "not you're goddamn BVD's." He moved quickly to take his underpants off. He had fantasized about being taken by an aggressive woman, but not like this. All his guts came to rest in his throat. Now that he was naked from the waist down, she seemed to relax, and she ran the barrel of the gun up and down the length of his penis. It was limp and very small, he suddenly noticed, much smaller than normal. If he could just keep it that way.

"Well, well, well," she said, chuckling slightly. That impossibly angered him. "Down," she said, pointing at the wet grassy earth with the gun. He lowered himself, onto his back, never letting his eyes stray from the gun. She kept the gun on him with one hand, and with the other hand began taking her own pants off.

"Goddamn button flies," she muttered, but finally got them off all right. It was queer, but he found himself using body English to try to help her take them off. She began taking her panties off, and then simply tore them off. She leaned over him.

"Still not hard, eh?" she asked. "How would you like me to take care of that little problem?" Her mouth hovered over his penis. "There's a better way." She lifted his legs, positioned the end of the barrel at his anus, and then quickly, pushed it into him. After the initial shock of pain, he found his penis growing. He tried to make it stop, to no avail.

"And," she added, "If you try anything stupid..." She let that thought trail off to the obvious end.

Oh god, oh my fucking god, he thought. She wouldn't shoot; she wouldn't, because somebody's got to hear that, they've got to. But in a surprising fit of clarity, he realized he would still be dead, and he knew she would risk getting caught to make good her threat.

"What's the matter?" she asked, solicitously. "All I want is a little tenderness, that's all. I thought men dreamed of this kind of thing?"

And just that fast, before he had time for another thought, she engulfed him.

It went quickly, really. She went up and down on him, hard, and his stomach ached, and the smell of alcohol on her breath was overwhelming. And her panting; She only broke the silence (silence!) to tell him, "I don't want any problems later, so don't come, or I'll drill a tunnel right through to your fucking head."

He tried to think of his physics professor, or the ant nest outside his bedroom, or anything to distract himself as he rose inexorably to orgasm, but it was one thing to distract himself while masturbating in the shower, and another, he was fast discovering, to distract himself when a hundred twenty pound woman was bouncing up and down on top of him. And just as the fatal moment approached... she reached behind her for his balls, and squeezed hard. He lurched into her, and stifled moans leaked out her clamped lips as she came (he thought). He vomited on top of his chest.

In the haze of pain and nausea that followed, he felt her withdraw, and his crotch felt wet and cold. Something came out of his anus. "Goddamn," she said,

"Take a shit every now and then. You got my heat all lousy. Maybe you wouldn't mind cleaning it off?" She waved the gun over his mouth. "No, I guess not." She settled for wiping his shirt with it, where the vomit hadn't run off to.

"Later," she said, getting up a bit. "And if anyone asks, this is for Elmore." She put her pants on, disregarding her panties, wherever they were. "Sorry I have to do this, but I can't have you following me." He wondered who Elmore... Then something quick, hard, and heavy met his head.

Blessed darkness, real darkness. Complete darkness...

When he came to, it was much colder, and he shivered. The vomit had caked a bit, and choking down the nausea, he managed to get up and take his shirt off and throw it into the brook. He didn't ever want to see it again. He shook off as much of the dirt and earth as he could, then put his underpants and pants back on. They were damp, but he would have to deal with that. He looked for his shoulder bag.

It was at the edge of the water, and completely soaked. On top of it were her panties. This time, he couldn't quite choke it back down. He was careful to let the vomit drop into the running water. He kicked the underwear into the brook, and picked up the bag. It felt like it weighed about a half a ton. He held his head in his other hand, and leaning against the underside of the bridge, he cried quietly for a minute or two. Then, he ran as fast as he could, without stopping, until he made it to his apartment.

He fumbled with his keys, and tried to get the right one into the lock, realized it was upside down, tried again, turned it the wrong way, then finally got the door open. He went in and slammed it shut. His roommates were studying for finals. Mitchell looked up briefly as he ran to his bedroom; the other one, Mario, didn't even flinch. He closed the door to his bedroom, and knelt, and prayed for anything that came to mind.

Ten minutes later, he still knelt in the darkened room, his knuckles still in his mouth. His first thought was to sleep it off, but of course he found he didn't want to try.

END.

**Well, I don't really know what I was trying to accomplish here. There was a situation that happened at my Universitat that involved a Homosexual male student who happened to be one of my roommates. I can't really go into much detail out of respect for said man. Meh. Tell me of your opinion in REVIEW!**

**On a more tiny note; I have decided when ever I write gumball to categorize every "species" as ethnicity. Meaning gumball is cat. Anais is rabbit. No blood relation. This will tie in to an idea I have for later. C ya!**


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